Sunday, March 06, 2005

The old words lie on the ground

Each breeze brings a change;
Whispers within
beg to say something,
Say nothing.
Which is right?
The tree branches bend
and sway
still reaching for sunlight.
Always in the knowledge
that the old words lie on the ground
brown and crumbling,
the new leaves of spring rustle
and grow still-
Waiting for the wind
to touch again.

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